Red Convertibles
by Tenshisonnet
Summary: A stranger shows up in front of Quatre's home to pleasure himself on the hood of his sports car. Who is this stranger? yaoi 3X4.


**Red Convertibles**

Pairing: 13x3/3x3

Part: 1/1

Completed: November 2001

Author's note: I'm not an old Japanese guy so I don't own GW. 

Quatre stared blankly out through the damp fogginess to the lakeside a fifty feet from this window. In the summer he could see couples walking on the beach hand-in-hand. As the years past, he watched the couples age as he did. He'd turn down his radio to mask his presence. People acted more natural if you weren't there to stare at them. No one was there for him to watch that foggy night. He reclined on his king-sized bed and turned the stereo up very loud with the remote. The guitar solos and electronic melodies spun his calm mind out of the house and into the night.

He sighed that same sigh. The lonesome nighttime sigh. The next day of college filed itself through in his immediate thoughts. His body moved back into the study to prepare for the next day. He began to read, but became unfocused in the pages of criminal law notes. The lead from his chewed up pencil tapped on the blank paper. His fingers ran through his hair. He could feel boredom's residue on his fingers. Pulling his law books away he thought of studying German. The books fell onto his desk. "I will get this done!" he thought. 

Alas he fell asleep on his forearm.

The grind of Monday played its same old tune as Quatre ran out of the house and jumped into his new blue Honda. The wind danced through his hair while he drove down the country roads and into the city to attend his first class of the day. Since he was running behind schedule, he parked in the back of the lot next to a junkie green Hyundai. The owner who was a few steps ahead of Quatre commented on the schway car he drove. Quatre accepted the comment gracefully and headed faster to his class. He bought the Honda to mix in with the college students. He didn't want to stick out like he did in all the other schools. Everyone was so fake around him then. He despised it. He despised his money. Now, only a few weeks into the year, he found himself at home with everyone. He did feel like a double agent when other students asked if he wanted to hang out. He had to decline; he was swamped in work to do for the company.

He arrives five minutes late to Criminal Law without his homework. The professor paid him no head and continues his lecturing. The second class continued as the first did; boring and unprepared for. 

German literature started with the same old speech. "Meinen Daumen und Herrn.." she droned on. Everything was in place and rehearsed. Quatre had read up on the lesson for today, so everyday seemed like review. Halfway into the primary lecture the door opened and closed quietly. The professor looked above Quatre's head, but continued on. 

The hour and fifty-minute class crawled before Quatre's eyes. Every minute was prompted by a click of the clock. He swore the clock forgot the click a few times.

After the class time ran out, Quatre packed up and pulled the strap over his shoulder. As he buckled the clasp of the single strap bag across his chest, he looked up to see an unfamiliar tall brunet guy turn toward the door. Curiosity grasped him tightly as he followed the guy out to the school and into the parking lot. The brunet didn't seem to notice the blonde following him. The brunet went past the rows of cars Quatre's was parked at. Quatre stood at the row and watched the guy walk off campus. He was tall, maybe six foot, with a basketball player's physique. Quatre couldn't tell much about him through his loose jeans and lazy blue sweater. This new curiosity halted there. Quatre wanted to see his face, but didn't want to be a stalker, so he stalked home.

On the drive home, he left all the windows down and drove faster than he normally would down the back roads. He felt as if life weren't so boring anymore. He had a reason to come to school other than to learn. He was determined to meet this person. In his thoughts, he didn't notice the flashing red lights behind his head. Then he heard the sirens.

"Damn it!" he cursed at himself as he pulled to the side of the road. He waited impatiently as the officer slithered out of his vehicle and to the side of Quatre's Honda.

"License and proof of insurance, please," he blandly regurgitated at Quatre.

He sighed and handed the cards to the officer. The officer raised an eyebrow at the name. "Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Umm, I think about . . ."

"You were going one hundred twenty," he said.

"Excuse me? I was going no more than eighty. His car rattles when it goes any faster than that, sir."

"Are you arguing with an officer, boy?" he contested.

"No sir, I just think you are mistaken," Quatre saw through his game.

"I saw you owe the state about one hundred seventy-five bucks."

"For the love of Allah," he muttered and took two hundreds out of his wallet.

"And you owe me one hundred for not reporting you to the station."

"What did I do, sir?"

"You questioned my judgement, boy."

Quatre sighed again and handed the officer another hundred.

He smiled, "You had a good day you hear, boy?"

Quatre mumbled and drove off.

Now fairy grumpy, Quatre arrived at his modest estate with no other desire than in blasting music and taking a long shower. 

He hummed to himself while stripping down and hopping into a welcoming shower. After the near pruning of his softened skin, Quatre rose into the early evening air. He cooked some pasta and red sauce in spices, filling the house with an aromatic scent. In front of the large screen TV in the living room, he ate a minimal amount of pasta. He'd lost his appetite from the run in with the law. No matter where he went he was associated with money. He wanted to move again, but he held on to the belief that this time it would be different. The others at school liked him. It was just one incident, nothing else.

After cleaning the dishes, he turned off the TV and studied until he couldn't concentrate anymore. He stole a glance at the clock. 11:45p.m. He walked to the window and sat down on the windowsill. The fog had returned from the previous night, but in less quantity. It reigned over the shore and ascended slowly up the beach to the grass. Quatre sat with the stereo blasting heavy metal out of every hole in the house. He wore a solemn expression bore of intensive labor.

Then a blood red 2002 Lamborghini roared through the countryside. Quatre's ears drank in the vibrations of the engine's cylinders pumping heated fuel. His heart leapt. He hadn't heard that noise since his older sister Nina rode home in her new Lamborghini after her college graduation. Hers was sky blue with her name written in Chinese on the left side. This one was different. The driver wasn't driving it for show. There was more aggressive handling. There was anger and frustration. Quatre's curiosity revved up once more.

The car screeched to a halt a few feet in front of the beach. The engine slowed and stopped like a caress that slows and stops before it gets to a stimulating destination. Quatre sat facing the deep red car intently as the driver got out and looked around as if looking for something. Quatre scrambled for the remote and muted his music. The figure shrugged it off and sat on the hood of the car looking at the lake. Quatre could only see the outline of the figure and the bits of color the moon reflected off it them. As he studied further, he discovered it was a he. Lanky and strong. He watched him remove his coat and lean his back on the windshield. The profile was handsome, from what he could see. The figure lay there on the car as if he were in a comfortable private place. The night nearly masked him and his car. "There were no other houses for miles. He must not notice my house either," he thought to himself. He enjoyed watching this person. He paid close attention to his every move, or how he didn't move. Quatre was unconsciously holding his breath until he remembered to breathe.

He sat quite still until the man on the car pulled his legs up closer to him and loosened his pants. Quatre strained his eyes to conceive of what the man was doing. He finally knew what he was doing when the figure lowered his legs a bit. Quatre's jaw dropped, and he began drooling. The man was lying on his car in the middle of nowhere pleasuring himself. Quatre wiped away the drool and noticed the tightness in his pants. "Shameless," he told himself. "When in Rome . . ."

Quatre unleashed himself and watched the man, mimicking his movements. He ran his hand through his hair, teased his own nipples, suckled on his fingers, pumping faster and faster. Quatre felt everything the other man did, he thought. Everything came closer in on him. He wanted to explode, but waited until the man's hand slowed down severely. Then it what seemed like an hour it was over. Quatre refused to clean up until he saw the man timidly drive off. Then Quatre scorned himself for not cleaning up earlier and took another shower. 

After joyously hopping out of the shower and into his giant white bed, he fell fast asleep wondering who the man was. But in a way, he didn't want to know hoping that way he would be his.

After the late night gallivanting, Quatre awoke with barely enough energy to rise. He patted into the kitchen to consume a large cup of coffee. Normally he never touched the stuff unless he had a long night of studying ahead of him. The taste of Folgers battery acid soothed his throat as he went over the newspaper. Nothing interesting ever went on it seemed. People die, money is lost, and animals are slaughtered. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Quatre sped into his closet to dress retrieving a white button-down shirt, a blue V-neck weater, and a pair of baggy black jeans with white stitching. He dressed, picked up his books, and ran out the door. "For nothing happening ever, I'm sure rushing to get nowhere fast," he thought as he started up his car.

As he arrived to his Constitutional law class, he remembered he didn't have German literature with the new guy. His heart fell into his stomach. His feet glumly brushed into the classroom and under his desk. The rest of the day drudged by like his feet. As he walked back to his car he thought about he followed him to his row of cars and watched him walk away. Then a hand struck his shoulder. "Ah," he exhaled.

"Quatre! How goes it?" a familiar voice asked.

"Duo, uh . . . I'm fine. How are you?" he forced a smiled.

"I'm just peachy," he took another look at Quatre. "You are not fine. Come, tell me about it over coffee." He didn't give Quatre a chance retort.

Before Quatre could fit a word in edge-wise, Duo had already driven them to the nearest respectable café and ordered them lattes. "So? What's eating you?"

"Nothing, Duo. It's nothing," he reassured him.

Duo raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Knowing you, it's not about school or family. You can take care of those things well enough." Duo sat with his hand on his chin. After a couple minutes of concentration, the drinks came. "Oishii!"

"Hai. So how's Wufei?" Quatre asked.

"Oh, he twisted his ankle yesterday."

"Is he okay? How did he do that?"

"We were . . . He was fencing. He's okay though. I caught him trying to practice this morning on it."

"That's just like Wufei," Quatre giggled.

"So, I think I know what's wrong with you," duo said.

"And that is?" Quatre took a drink. 

"Who is he?" Duo asked coyly.

Quatre fought not to spit his coffee everywhere. "Duo!"

Duo smiled, "That's what I thought."

"What are you insinuating?"

"Who is he, Quatre?"

Quatre sighed. "I didn't meet anyone Duo."

"Then what's up? You can tell me."

"Well, there's this new guy in my German class. I haven't formally met him yet."

"Is that it? That can't be it! Hey . . ." Duo thought out loud.

"Huh? What's up?"

"Did the guy you saw have weird spiky bangs?"

"Uh-huh," Quatre started to get excited.

"Was he tall and lanky?"

"Yes."

"Did he have a blue earring?"

"I don't know."

"I think that's T-bone," he reasoned.

"T-bone?" he irked.

"Yeah, Trowa Barton. He played basketball with me and the guys on Thursdays and Sundays. He's damn good."

"Why'd you call him T-bone?"

"He hates it. He doesn't tell me to knock it off or anything, but he gets that look on his face. It's classic," Duo smiled widely.

"Oh."

"Do you want to come to practice with me on Thursday?"

"I don't play."

"You don't need to," he winked.

"Won't that look a little weird? I mean, won't it look like I'm gawking?"

"Of course not. You're an artist right? You can take a sketchpad with and act like you're drawing."

"Oh," Quatre thought it over. "If I get to see him, I suppose it's worth it," he thought.

"So you'll come?"

"Sure," he smiled.

"Okay, then," Duo put his money on the table and walked out with Quatre. "I'll pick you up after school by the law building, 'kay?"

"Thank you," Quatre said.

"Trowa Barton, huh?" Quatre thought out loud on the couch. "It's a nice name. Much better than T-bone anyway." He rolled off the couch and onto the floor lazily. "I hope he doesn't suspect anything Thursday. I haven't even touched my sketchbook in weeks."

He walked into the study and recovered his sketchbook from the desk drawer. Only half of the sketchpad was filled after nearly a year. All of them seemed lifeless, like photographs of people he don't know. Boring, normal.

The moon hung like a noose in skyline, drawing Quatre's eyes to its reflection off of the water. Midnight had come and Quatre sat by the windowsill in his robe. Subconsciously, he had sat closer and closer to the window as the evening rolled on and his music became louder.

The same engine roared nearer to the house through his blaring music. Quatre's heartbeat sped faster and faster as he contemplated his courses of action. "I could leave my music up. He would know I'm here. Would he drive away? What if he doesn't?"

The car stopped where it did before. It was just as dark as the night before but less foggy, less surreal. He gradually got out of the driver's seat and looked around. Quatre held his breath as he prayed the man wouldn't leave because of his music leaking out of the house. The man slowly sat on the hood of the car rigidly staring at Quatre's direction. Quatre held his breath until he nearly passed out. He caught his breath and thought, "Why am I doing this? Why do I want him to know I'm here? He's probably a pervert anyway." He looked back up at the man. His face was luminescent as it was before. Quatre put his hand to the glass where the man's face was, wanting feel his skin. "Maybe he's not a pervert after all. Maybe he just has a bizarre fetish. A lot of people have fetishes. It's not like this one's dangerous or anything."

The man withdrew himself again and Quatre's heartbeat shot up like an elevator going to the fiftieth floor. He disrobed and wrapped himself in the man's glow. The man's hands were slower this time, as if he wanted Quatre to watch him, to seduce him. Whatever he was doing, was working. Quatre panted as he mimicked his movements. Teasing nipples, suckling fingers, running his hand threw his long bangs. Quatre couldn't stand it any longer; he needed to feel something else. The man finally slid his fingers in and out of his pants. Quatre lapped up the familiar scenery. His eyes drank in the man pleasuring himself at last and did the same. It was slow at first, an almost heavenly cock tease. Quatre pumped and pumped, trying the best he could to match rhythm. When Quatre felt his arm would fall off, he felt as if he had fallen from the ceiling. Exhausted, he slumped against the windowsill and stared at the man. Panting, he saw the man lie there in his sex, wanting more. Quatre secretly wanted to run to the man, but knew it wouldn't be right. "This was meant to be this way. If we were meant to meet, he would come to me. We would have already met."

The man slid off of the hood and gave Quatre's general direction a long gaze. He drove off like a fox running from hunting dogs. Quatre walked to his bed, exhausted. There he fell into slumber.

The next morning, Quatre smiled as he awoke. The midnight romp made him feel alive. He took to his morning activities with the same vigor. He drove to college at a less hurried pace. His motor was as silent as the day he bought it. He parked in the last row when a strong hand was placed in his shoulder. "Quatre~!"

"Huh?" he looked up. There was cheery Duo this early in the morning.

"How's in going? Did you see Trowa yet?" he asked.

"I'm okay. Nope, not yet," He replied. "Duo sure knows how to get to the point," he thought.

"Are you going to see him today?"

"Yes, I was going that way now."

"Oh, then I won't stop you. Are you still going with us tomorrow?"

"Yeah, thanks for letting me go with."

"No problem, Quatre," He reassured him.

They parted quickly and Quatre made his way to the lecture hall.

As his left foot passed the lecture hall's door, he caught wind of an argument. A darker haired boy loomed over Trowa's desk with a snide smirk on his face. "You think you're so much better than us at this because you lived there for a month. I bet you don't even know what a Stein is."

The other two boys behind him chuckled and circled behind Trowa.

Trowa faced forward, as if looking past them. Silently, he didn't even look at the boy leaning over to yell at him.

"Or you're just dumb. Are you slow, boy? Answer me!" 

"Feckst du," Trowa answered quietly.

He stretched his arm back beginning a punch when the boys behind Trowa grabbed his arms. Trowa almost seemed to put out his arms to make it easier for them. Then, the boy's fist struck Trowa's right eye.

Quatre raced toward them to push them off of Trowa when the professor sped past him. "Knock that off, Harrison! All three of you are going to your advisors. You're lucky I don't have the power to kick you all out of my class right now. Now go! If I find out you didn't go and tell them everything, I'll report it myself."

Harrison and the others strode out of the classroom knocking Quatre nearly over with his shoulder. Quatre walked over to Trowa who didn't even touched his face yet to wipe the blood away. With a sympathetic glance he asked, " Ano, would you like me to walk to the nurse with you?"

Trowa looked up at him curiously, his eye already swelling. "What for?"

Quatre rose an eyebrow with a gape. "You're bleeding."

"Oh," he rose a hand to wipe the blood away from where tears would fall from. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not," he argued and turned to the teacher. "Sensei! I'm walking him to the nurse. We'll be back."

"Go ahead."

Quatre drug Trowa out of his seat by an arm and into the hall before letting go. "You're going to swell real badly if you don't get to the nurse," he reassured him.

Trowa stared at him blankly. "Hn."

They walked to the nurse's office in silence. Quatre nearly walked the wrong way until Trowa grabbed his arm rapidly and retracted his grasp timidly as soon as Quatre looked back at him.

The nurse's office was spacious enough to be the first floor of a hospital. Quatre asked Trowa to sit down when he told the nurse what had happened. Trowa stared vacantly in Quatre's direction as Quatre paced toward him impatiently. "So, they said the nurse would show up soon. Are you okay?" he prodded.

Trowa tilted his head slightly, "I think I'm okay." He touched his right eye and winced slightly.

"Don't do that!" Quatre whimpered. "You'll hurt yourself further. Here comes the nurse."

A tall slender woman in a white lab coat with corkscrew pigtails slinked over to Trowa with an ice pack in one hand and a small flashlight in the other. Her face was inches away from Trowa's as she inspected the bruise. He sat motionless as she flashed the light in his eye to let his pupils dilate. As if content, she put the icepack in his hand and reported, "You'll be fine. It's a good thing you got here so quickly. If not, you would have bruised more severely. Put his icepack on for five minutes every fifteen minutes for no more than three hours. If you have further questions, come see me. I'm Dr. Sally." She slinked back to the papers on her desk.

Quatre blinked at her conciseness and turned back to Trowa who let the icepack sit on his hand. Quatre picked up the icepack and elevated it to his eye. Trowa held it there and stood up. "Ano, Arigato."

"No problem. Let's get back to class," Quatre began to walk back but stopped when Trowa didn't follow. "Is something the matter?"

"Iie," he followed shyly. Halfway back he asked Quatre, "Why did you take me to the nurse?" He took the icepack off of his eye to pick off the dried blood.

"You are hurt. Why wouldn't I have?"

"You don't know me," he retorted.

"So," Quatre response. "I know it was childish to respond like that, but what else am I supposed to say? Because I have a crush on you?" he thought to himself.

As if in reply, Trowa stared at the passing floor tiles silently. After seeing the lecture hall's door ahead Trowa said, "I'm Trowa.'

Quatre smiled, "I'm Quatre, yoroshiku."

"Hajimemashite."

Trowa opened the door for Quatre and they walked into the class as if returning from separate journeys.

When class ended, Quatre headed over to Trowa's desk and tugged on his sleeve. Trowa turned to Quatre after he'd finished packing up. "Yes, Quatre?"

Quatre loved hearing his name off of Trowa's lips. It brought a flutter to his heart. "I was wondering, you wanna go grab a coffee?"

Trowa looked disappointed. "Gomen, Quatre. I have to go to work now. I'm very sorry. Would you at least walk me out?" he asked politely.

"Ohh, hai! Of course," he answered at first very sadly.

They walked out of the building and Quatre began to eye him slyly. "So where do you work?"

"Kind of. I work at a bookstore about twenty minutes from here."

"What's it called?" he prodded further.

"Nobleman's."

They approached the end of the parking lot and Quatre stopped. "My car's over there, so this is where I split. It's was nice talking to you today."

Trowa nodded, "Hai, I'll see you around, Quatre."

"He did it again," Quatre thought. "He said my name." He waved slightly, "goodbye, Trowa."

He watched the taller boy walk away with a longing sigh. He opened his car door and got in quiet listlessly. He drove off into another afternoon of loud music and obnoxious cops.

Quatre had wasted most of the sun lying about the house, even on the roof, ignoring his duties to pass time. Nothing seemed to stimulate his brain except Trowa and the man in the red convertible. Nothing at all. Not food, not TV, not music. His body lay haplessly about the house. At eight o'clock, he forced himself to eat. The TV turned itself on and flipped to the news. The food he retrieved found its way into his stomach. He was doing all the things he normally did at this time, but he felt lacking. Hours passed through his fingers on the remote. Sated with boredom, he went into the shower and turned the handle far to the right. There in his sopping clothes, he recalled Trowa saying his name and broke into laughter. The thin blue T-shirt and baggy tan corduroys clung to his body. The icy water leaked past his hardening nipples to around his ankles sopping every fiber of his body with happy stimulation. His sand-colored hair coddled his face as he broke out into another fit of laughter. "I'm being so strange! I must be in love or something." He then realized his words; raising his fingers to his lips. He turned off the shower and sauntered through the house fighting to keep his pants on. He went in the kitchen, cleaned up his sloppy dinner looking at the clock occasionally. The convertible was late. He turned off the light and headed to the living room where he usually watched the man. He scanned the land beyond the glass and still saw nothing. "It's one o'clock already. Where is he? Maybe I scared him last time and he's not coming back," he thought. His heart plummeted into his intestines. He shook his head and turned his thoughts to Trowa. "At least I'm getting along with Trowa now. At least he doesn't hate me." He stared back into the study thinking he should do his work. Giving one last glance at the vacant shore, he walked to the study in his still sopping pants. 

Only a few minutes into his Criminal Law reading, there was a soft knock at the door. If he'd've put his music on like usual, he wouldn't've heard it. Glancing at the one-thirty face, he wondered who it was. "Maybe one Ukiko." Ukiko was a more needy sister of his. She frequented his house for money. He thought about putting more lights on, but then thought it would be more likely to drive her away if they were off. The porch light died a couple days ago, but Quatre felt too lazy to replace it. He glanced through the living room and saw a red blurb outside of the window facing the lake.

When he got to the door, he glanced through the peephole to see an unfamiliar figure facing the door. He reluctantly opened the door to barely make out a taller man in front of him. "Um . . . Good morning," he greeted. "I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?"

The figure pointed out toward the lake. Quatre gasped to see the customary red convertible parked before the lake. "You," he said in disbelief.

The man nodded and reached inside to touch Quatre's wet hair.

Quatre felt quite sheepish and replied; "I was . . ."

His was silenced by a pair of warm lips and encompassing arms. He hugged the man back with all his energy. Their kisses became fervid as their mouths opened to welcome each other in. These arms didn't threaten him, but let him take them into the house and shut the door. Quatre led him into his bedroom, closing the door behind them. The figure stood by the Quatre not wanting to move without his permission. Quatre laughed then squeezed his hand. Everything felt right for Quatre. Nothing about this man hurt him. The only thing he saw about the cryptic young man was his clean green eye. Quatre let the man's hand caress the side of his face, getting to know his body. The hand wasn't old, but callused. The eye wasn't old, but exposed his age of around Quatre's. But none of that mattered. Quatre picked off his shirt and let the hand wander to his chest and around his back. It seemed the hand knew the right places to feel on to get a reaction out of Quatre. Quatre lifted a bulky sweater off of the ambiguous man to reveal a sculpted upper body, and chiseled abs. He held his hand out for a moment before the man gently put it on his chest. Quatre caressed the silent figure's upper body and face until he got a feel for how he should proceed. He pulled his silent visitor to him; loving just to touch his skin for the first time. His skin seemed cold compared to the others. At first, the taller man's hold was paternal, then became personal as he touched Quatre's shoulders leading to teasing his nipples. The taller man felt Quatre fit his hands into his pants to cup his buttocks. After Quatre was satisfied, Quatre led him back to his bed. Gravity did its job as it took Quatre's pants to the ground after the taller man's hand worked with them. In turn, the shorter man undid the taller confines. The taller man pulled Quatre onto the bed. Heavy caressing ensued.

There was a sweet element of how Quatre made love. Everything was so slow, almost aching. Quatre felt like it was his first time all over again, but this time seemed more important. He wanted to drink in every touch, every motionless moment in the endeavor. Their auras melted into an indistinguishable mass, unable to identify one man from the other. The completeness of the action itself didn't hit Quatre until he slammed into the tall one with his seed. They elapsed into another fit of pants as the taller one had come for the second time that night. Words were unfathomable to apply to their sex. Arms encompassed their bodies as if letting go would be the death of their new memories of each other. Instead of trying to relay the extent of pleasure they retained from each other, they wiped the kisses away and started anew. This mad performance raged until near dawn. They fell onto the moist bed one last time and saw the lights beginning behind the shades. They both knew if they saw each other's faces, the fantasy would be over. Secretly, Quatre desired to see his face, but took to dressing him and the other man affectionately. Walking him to the wretched door, the taller man took Quatre's hand lovingly. His hands didn't feel so rough but warmly gentle. As the taller man clutched the doorknob, Quatre rammed him into the wall near the door, kissing him with violent passion. The man kissed him back equally as longingly, but pushed Quatre to the side. The shorter blonde pouted and spoke; "Will you be back tomorrow?"

The taller man nodded slightly and left the house into the first glimmer of the sunrise. Sighing in pleasure and disbelief, his eyes lazily hit the floor. Following his pace back to the bedroom, he ended up in front of the small circular face in sheer terror. "It's six-thirty!"

Needless to say, Quatre walked onto the campus with less than average animation. Bore down by his book bag filled with colossal texts, he sensed a familiar bouncy baka bounding up behind him. A forceful strike stung his shoulder.

"Hey, Quatre, you're running late. You know you have class in three minutes right?" He leaned over to look at his friend's face. "Quatre, you look," he complexion went sour, "dead. What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"No, Duo, I'm not sick, just tired. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," he expression improved a far amount as he saw the disbelief on his friend's face. 

Duo still didn't believe him. "What happened man? You look like you hit a train."

"Three minutes?! I have to run! I'll tell you about it later!" he began to run.

"Are you still going with us to basketball practice today?" he shouted.

Quatre forgot entirely about it. "Yeah!"

After his third class, he felt like he was running only on adrenaline. His scampered to the front entrance to meet his peppy friend. The whole day's troubles would be compensated for when he sees the object of his affection again. "Trowa," he thought with much affection. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Duo's car pull up. He jumped in, throwing his backpack in the back seat. "How were your classes?"

"Yo. They were okay. Now tell me why you were so zombie looking this morning," he demanded.

"Duo, it's complicated," his hand ran over his face frustrated.

Duo rose an eyebrow. "You know romance novels start out like that. 'It's complicated Fabio! But I can't make love with you until you cover me in honey!'" he feigned. "This sounds good, now tell me every last juicy detail."

Quatre groaned. Giving in, he lamented his tale. "This guy started driving up to my place around midnight. He didn't come in; he parked near this lake right near me and laid on the front of his car. At first I didn't think anything of it, then I noticed one night when he was sitting there, he was actually masturbating."

Duo interrupted when stopped at a red light, "He was jerking off in front of you?! Sweet! Was he hot?"

"Duo, shut up and let me finish. Basically, I started joining in."

"Quatre! You animal! Come on, tell me more!"

"Shut up! So, one night a couple nights ago, I let him know I was watching him. He still jerked off right there in front of me."

"Oh god this is hot! Now I have something else to beat off about. Thanks Quatre!"

"If I have to tell you one more time . . . Anyway, so last night I'm waiting for him to show up, you know, but then he doesn't show. I go about my studies like I usually would when there's a knock on the door. When I open it up, there's this guy standing there, only a couple inches taller than me. I couldn't see his face, so I asked him who he was. It ends up he was the guy on the car. So you'd figure I'd shut the door, but for some strange reason, We start kissing and I let him in."

"You're so kidding!" Duo gapped at his friend as he pulled into the crowded public parking lot. "So what happens next?"

"What do you think?" he replied.

"Quatre! You didn't!" he parked the car.

"For hours and hours until the sun rose," he unbuckled and opened the car door.

"Well, fuck a duck. Quatre Winner, you pimp," Duo opened his door.

"He left before there was enough light to see his face. I still don't know who he is," his tones became solemn.

"No wonder you looked so bad this morning," he looked to the court to see quite a few guys there already. He tossed his head in the general direction, "T-bone's here."

Quatre looked around nonchalantly. "How do I look?"

Duo smiled, "Wonderful, my little bunny."

Practice went quite uneventfully. The remarkable Trowa scored numerous baskets. His natural athletic talent exhibited itself without any notice of Quatre's existence. He sat on the bench against the woven metal fence limply. He pretended to be as into the game as much as the guy next to him, but he remained a fence-flower. Trowa's long body reached across, over the head of, and around the other players with such unnatural grace. The movements imprinted themselves into his brain. The boy was every bit as remarkable as Quatre imagined. Occasionally, his mind retracted into the previous night. He shook his head out of it when an orange object flew squarely in the face, making him double over in pain. "Why wasn't I paying attention? Now, I'm gonna look like a fool!" he responded to the ache silently.

Shocked, none other than Trowa rushed to Quatre's recovering form. He pulled Quatre up and led him toward a fountain. The game continued without Trowa listlessly. Before Quatre could identify the person helping him, he was leaning over the fountain to wash the blood off of his face and calm the swelling. He finally turned to the helping hand's possessor to see Trowa himself. Taken back, Quatre stepped out of the touch. "Trowa."

"Are you okay? I'm sorry about that. He wasn't watching. Ah, your shirt," he pointed.

Quatre looked down at the white shirt with new deep red dribbles on it. "Damn it! I just got this, too! Oh, I'll be okay. Thank you."

Trowa smiled lightly and started walk back to the court. Quatre followed him holding his nose shut. "I've got a couple shirts in my car you can use."

Quatre immediately wondered, "How will they smell, like Trowa?" Then he thought to thank him again. "Oh, thanks."

"It's nothing. You took care of me when I got hurt."

Quatre smiled, "Yeah, your eye looks much better."

Trowa unlocked the blue car with random clothes in the back seat. "Damned Wufei. I don't know why he put two locks on this junker," he mumbled letting his ass perk nicely out of the car.

"Oh, you know Wufei? Is this his car?" Quatre leaned in a bit further to see into the car. There in the middle of the back seat was a familiar bulky blue sweater he'd seen on Trowa the week before. Trowa handed it to him to look underneath the piled of yarn. Quatre felt the unmistakable weave. "This is . . ." he eyes lit up.

Trowa took the sweater back to replace it with a gray T-shirt. "My car's . . . in the shop. I'm borrowing his." Then he saw the look of bedazzlement on Quatre's face. "Is something wrong?"

Quatre shook his head, "What color is your car?" He needed to know the truth.

"Red, why?" he said lazily.

Quatre nodded and thought it over. "Okay, he has the same sweater and the same color car. It's just a couple coincidences. Nothing major."

"Quatre?" he locked the car up.

"Oh, oh. It's nothing. What kind of car is it?" he ripped off his stained shirt.

Trowa's gaze didn't budge from the delightful form. "It's a red Viper."

Then Quatre knew. He let the new shirt fall onto his shoulders. It did in fact smell like Trowa. His gaze flew from the pavement to Trowa's searching eyes. His everything told him to hug him tightly. He was elated to find Trowa was the one. But how could he tell him like this? "You have a large scar on your back to the right."

Trowa's face contorted. "How . . . how did you know that?"

"And there's a ticklish spot behind your left ear," he turned back toward the court with a slow pace.

Trowa grabbed his arm violently and snapped him back. "How do you know that?!"

Quatre struggled out of it. "I tickled you last night."

Trowa's expression softened, "That was you, Quatre?"

"Yes." He felt for a prolonged moment the depression of the end of the dream. The defining moment when you realize all the things that happened weren't real. Quatre had all but given up the hope that Trowa would still care for him beyond the sex. "That's right, it wasn't real." He thought.

With a quick releases, he uttered, "I see." He walked around the car and got in.

Quatre would never forget he pouting face on his face. "So it's over, then?" he asked him.

Trowa started up the car and backed out of his spot.

"K'so!" Quatre screamed the moment he entered the desolate house. The empty house insulted his lonely heart. The absence of everything he loved stared at him from the walls with pity. He squirmed under the wretched eyes with a foul snarl. "Baka yaro! BAKA YARO! How could I have . . . I had unprotected sex him all those times. He used me! Just like I used him. How could I have thought he'd care for some rich brat like me? I'm such a fuckin' fool! What if he gave me something? I'll bet he doesn't get that much play anyway. But it was sooooooooo good. Don't think about that! He used you! No, you used him."

Doing as his irrational hatred guided, he proceeded to beat the shit out of the boxing bag in the basement. Trowa's face became the pattern for the face of the bag. Even after his sharp cuts to the left and right stung his arms to the point of bruising, he continues to strain the threads of his heart. If he just beat on the bag a little more, the pain would go away.

Trowa drove to the crowded café downtown called "Caffein" and secured a table in the back. His short call to Wufei concerned his friend deeply. He said but few words and hung up. "Wu, please meet me at Caffein at eight-thirty. I need you."

Unknown to even Duo, Trowa and Wufei were each other's firsts. They had been friends since high school, in which junior year they became lovers. Not even their closest friends knew about the relationship. To the world they were perfect strangers, but in the privacy of their room, they were anything but. They took careful time and effort to learn every crevice of each other's mind and body. Even after Wufei had become involved, Trowa knew exactly how he would react to anything. But since their separation, Trowa had felt an emptiness residing where Wufei used to lie. In his heart, in his soul, in his bed, he saw the void of nothing in the shape of his companion. If there was a void, that would be something, but this was nothing. As he'd gotten used to the void, it became less of a shape and progressively smaller. It was then he realized; Wufei had never left him.

So he sat with his Zombie Latte on the old sofa awaiting his lifetime companion. They weren't lovers anymore, but a transcendent doublet. Without looking, he saw the gorgeous hawk fly into the café and look madly for a familiar face. Seeing him, he ran over to him and asked him hurriedly, "What's wrong, Trowa?"

He motioned for him to sit down next to him on the couch, which he did. "Trowa, tell me everything."

Trowa nodded and pulled his head up for the bowed position it was in. "I know I worried you. I'm just so confused at my actions, Wu."

"What'd you do?" he turned a sympathetic ear.

"It all started one night a couple weeks ago. I was driving along in my viper, listening to the hum, letting her take me wherever she pleased. At midnight, I ended up in front of this magnificent lake. God, Wu, it was beautiful. The moon was sitting right on the edge of the lake. Anyway, you know I never get to he alone since my roommate always has his boy-toy over. So after a couple night of going there I started jerking off on my car."

"Trowa, I . . . on your car?" he asked.

"I know it's weird. I just started doing it; it was lunacy I guess. Anyway, I didn't think anyone was around obviously."

"Oh no," Wufei shielded his face with his hand.

"Yeah, there was this house covered by a bunch of trees about fifty feet away. A guy in the window was staring at me jerk off. I kinda got off on it for some reason. I don't know why. The next night, I had a fight with Catherine about this guy I've been interested in. I told her I was going to tell him how I felt."

"Was this about Quatre?" he asked.

Trowa shivered a bit. "Yeah. She's such a bitch about it though. She thinks I'm gonna get off'ed just because 'I'm a fag'," he said the last part with the face Catherine had given him. "Fuckin' bitch. She actually hit me, so I ran before I got angry enough to hit her back. God Wu, how I wanted to. She even brought you into it, like she knew you. 'I bet if Wufei knew you were a fag he'd abandon you.' I drove back to the lake well after midnight. I was feeling so empty, so I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. This beautiful blonde guy answered the door. I couldn't see him in detail without any light, but he was supernatural. We kissed after he knew I was the guy in the car and he led me in. We walked into his bedroom and well, you can figure the rest out."

Wufei spit the coffee he was drinking mid-drink. "You didn't! Trowa! You don't even know this guy! What if he has something? Did you ever think of that? You did use protection, right?" 

He shook his head.

"Then you did only do it once, right?"

"Fortunately, no," he smiled a bit. "We went at it all night long."

Wufei was livid, straining to remain seated. "Trowa! Grrr! Why did you . . . How could you?" he asked then he saw the futility in his actions in Trowa's eyes. "I guess it's in the past. So what's the problem?"

"That night with him, I didn't feel alone. I've had a couple flings that still left me empty even after great sex. But with him, everything seemed complete. Like how it was with," he paused as Wufei read the next words off of his face. "Well, that's in the past, too. Anyway, this afternoon Quatre showed up with Duo at basketball practice. I showed off and all that."

"You've told me how smitten you are with him. I'm not surprised."

"Then that damned Zechs threw the ball at Quatre's face! Sure it was an accident, but it hit him so hard. He was bleeding all over his shirt from his nose, so I brought him to my car to get him another one. Hopefully I could also invite him out to coffee or something, when he sees the sweater I just so happened to be wearing the previous night in the back seat. He gives it this strange look. I swear I should have seen the next part coming. Then he started asking about my car. After giving me another strange look, he tells me about the scar I have on my back. I'd never shown it to him. Then he tells me about the spot behind my ear. Then he told me it was him. How stupid was I? I hadn't figured it out yet."

"What'd you do?" Wufei asked still absorbing all the new facts.

"I ran away," he reported pitifully.

"You what?! You just drove away?" he asked with a rash voice.

He nodded.

"Trowa you astound me."

"I'm so confused. Do I go to him and love him like I want to, or do I do as Catherine tells me, neglect these feelings inside of me? I'm sick of being empty, but I can't stand to be hurt anymore."

Wufei's words resonated in Trowa's cranium when he drove furiously in the opposite direction of the coffee shop. His actions stunned him even more:

Wufei threw Trowa's coat at his face. Trowa looked aghast after catching the fallen coat. Wufei snarled at him, "You asshole, go after him."

"Huh? What?" he stood up.

"You can be so damned selfish sometimes. He wants you, you know that? Duo came back to the apartment with a story, but I'd just gotten the call from you, so I left. He only told me this before I left: 'Quatre's hurt bad. He left practice by foot. He didn't tell anyone, Trowa disappeared, too. I've been looking for him for three hours now. I can't find him anywhere.'

"'I just got a call from Trowa, if I find Trowa, maybe I could find Quatre,' I said. Then I came here to meet your sorry ass. He could be honestly hurt."

Trowa drove even faster to the only place he knew Quatre would go: home. When he got there, all the doors shut and the lights were off. The same aura he felt last night tantalized his soul for a brief moment. His legs carried him into the dark house, through the dark hallway and into the barely lit basement with a punching bag in the center. A pile of flesh lie under it lifelessly. "Oh, god, Quatre!" he cried and ran toward the heap. The heap instantaneously jumped up and decked him as he approached him. He grabbed his jaw as he retained his balance. Then he saw Quatre cradle his hand in his stomach. "Quatre what's wrong?"

"Shut the hell up," he whispered and headed toward the stairs. Trowa's eyes were then drawn to the blue punching bag with red splotches on the middle section on all sides. "Quatre, stop this!" He ran up the stairs to catch the swift man. He pounced on the man at the door to the bedroom. Quatre bit his bottom lip as Trowa ran his hands across Quatre's bloody knuckles. Trowa brought the hand to his face to see new blood smeared across them. Quatre fidgeted in his grasp, but Trowa retained him until he calmed a bit, which took a while. Trowa lead him to the disorderly kitchen and flipped on the light. There he gazed on the frightful sight of his love. Quatre held the bloody hands crossed over his chest under his blank blood stained eyes. His chest was smeared with congealing blood and sweat. The dark jeans squeezed his lazy hips. Thin black leather strings hung off of his neck like a shredded noose. Most terrifying were his tearless angsty eyes. The dispassionate disbanded look of a man seen another man hanged.

Unwilling to give into Quatre's glare, he pulled him sharply by the arm to the sink and began to wash the mess and hate from his form. The bloody knuckles didn't look so hideous after being rinsed under the tap of cool water. The wetted cloth traveled quickly over his arms and chest. His uncracked expression slipped when Quatre grabbed his hand with blank eyes. He guided his hand out of the cloth and to his nipples. Trowa's hand remained limp until Quatre lowered Trowa's hand to his crotch; then Trowa jerked away. Trowa grew sick of the mind-fuck, but regained his composure. "You smell. You take a shower. Don't think of doing anything, I'm going with you."

Quatre lead the way into the large bathroom behind the bedroom. Not disheartened, Trowa watched Quatre prepare his shower and undress. "You makin' sure I don't off myself?"

Trowa nodded, "Something like that."

The blonde walked into the steam glass shower facing the stream. The flow encompassing his skin felt like walking into the warm air of home on a chilly day. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the sensations of purification with all other senses. Humid air heavy with water flowed into his nose. Millions of droplets fell off and on him at every angle. The remorse and anger of the day slowly dripped from his form. Even with a unifying soul, he still stood natural and exposed behind the foggy glass. Past it sat the brunet straining to see past the fog into the blonde. "Now is good a time as any," he thought.

He walked to the glass, denounced to Quatre, placing a hand on it where he wanted to touch the man; on the heart. His body was only slightly less foggy so close to him. Needing to see his expressions, he cracked the door a bit and glanced in. The body seemed to be in better spirits than before. The yellow wet mop was flipped back and his body shined in the water's light. Trying not to get too excited, he closed the door and whispered the other man's name. "Quatre?"

Startled by the closed distance, he yelped in return, "Yes."

"I . . . I wanted to let you know something. You may not want to hear it, and that's fine. But at least let me say this: there was never a time when I haven't loved you. I know it sounds crazy, but every since I first saw you, I knew you were the one in the back of my mind. Not even with Wu did I feel so complete as to when I was with you. Not even the sex. Just walking with you, or looking at you during class. That was enough for me, just to know you were there even if you weren't with me."

The shorter one turned from the stream and smirked, "Then why did you leave me without an answer? How could you have done that if you love me? I felt like . . ."

With a fist slammed on the door, Trowa yelled, "Forget about those feelings! Quatre, I will never make you feel like that again! Ever! As soon as I found out how much you were hurt I rushed over!"

Quatre threw the door to the end of the track, not thinking of his exposure or the water on the bathroom floor. His face was flushed with hostile intent. "Didn't you think I'd be hurt when you drove off?! Did you ever think of that?! No! Of course not! Who could ever think of a spoiled rich boy like me before himself? Damn it, Trowa."

His feet carried him into the bath to catch the weakening Quatre. The showerhead spewed hot water all over the two with Quatre's tears falling lifelessly onto Trowa's soaking body. Strong hands clutched the naked blonde to him. "Stop it, Quatre! Stop hurting yourself. I've hurt you enough. I'm sorry for all that I did to you. I was so confused. All I can do now is apologize while things clear up. I was stupid for not believing in myself enough to do what I wanted right away. Please Quatre, stand up." He held the staggering youth up until he stood on his own against his sopping clothes. Reddened topaz peered into hunter eyes in questioning serenity. His wet hand glided up Trowa's arm and onto his right cheek. The answer he needed was right there under his touch. "I'll forgive you if . . ."

Trowa pushed into the touch. "Anything."

"If you let me see you, too. The one thing I wanted to do that morning was to turn the light on and see your face on your body. Show me that it's true." He parted and turned around to hide his eyes.

Blushing, Trowa peeled his clothes off and placed them on the wet floor. There barren of shame or anger, they recalled a touch every place they looked at on each other. Quatre leaned onto Trowa, encompassing his koi. Stunned at the outburst of affection, he held onto him loosely, feeling that magnificent skin against his. Tracing the long ripple of skin on Trowa's back, Quatre smiled. Not surprised by that particular affection, Trowa pinned Quatre against the side of the shower and purred brushing his lips on Quatre's skin. He laughed at the gestured and held Trowa tighter to him with flat palms. "I love you, too."

Then the phone rang. Quatre pulled out of Trowa's hold to reach the intercom button. Trowa blandly asked, "You're answering the phone at a time like this?"

He shrugged, "It might be important. (Beep) Hello?"

"Quatre! There you are! It's Wufei," he said hurriedly.

"And Duo!" he added equally as excited.

"Oh, hello, you two. What's up?" he asked and silenced Trowa's speech with a long French kiss, which was well reciprocated.

"Are you okay? I mean you just left practice. Did something happen between you and Trowa? I mean, did you tell him?" Duo asked.

"Tell him what?" Wufei asked him.

"Shhh, Fei," Duo called.

Trowa raised an eyebrow with a slight smile.

"I did. Don't worry I took the bus home," Quatre answered.

"What happened to Trowa? He left about the time you did. Did he take your news well?" Duo asked.

"Umm, well at first it didn't go so well, but it's all better now."

"Did that asshole break your heart? If he did, I'll rip him a new asshole, you know I will!" Duo added.

"Hey, he may be a little stupid when it comes to people, but you don't need to hurt him that badly Duo," Wufei added.

"Thanks Wufei," Trowa lamented.

"Trowa?! What are you doing there?" Duo and Wufei said in unison.

"Sorry, Trowa, but it's true. Hey, Quatre is that water I'm hearing? Are you in the shower?" Wufei asked.

"Yeah, and he has this really dirty spot I need to scrub for him, so bye guys," he said dripping with innuendo.

Quatre clicked the off button after hearing one last "what"! "So where's that dirty spot?"

After a long shower filled with foreplay and other naughty activities, Trowa carried the other man into the bedroom for another long night of sexual endeavors. In the morning, they untangled the tired, sore muscles, and Quatre plopped himself on top of Trowa's equally naked body. Playing with Trowa's styleless morning hair, he smiled, "Next time we should do it on your car."


End file.
